Flickering Flame
by ThogDontCaare
Summary: In an age where the First Flame is on its last breaths, where can the hope for survival come from? Only from one man, the last resort to return the Lords of Cinder to their thrones, so the Age of Fire may continue: the Chosen Undead. T rating may change to M depending on how violent I decide to make it.
1. Chapter 1

_**Hey guys. I decided to give you all a taste of what my next piece will be and see how you all like it. This does not mean I will not be updating or continuing my other stories. I have decided to give them each a rewrite starting with No Longer Lost to Light, which was my first attempt (I'm sure some of you remember that first coming out). If you have any questions, comments or concerns, please do not hesitate to PM me. I love hearing from you, and I want to know what your thoughts are. Thanks, and love you all!**_

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Dark Souls or Dark Souls 3. Those are property of FromSoftware. I do own some characters I have added in here, but other than that this is all my speculation/twist on the classic Souls games.**_

_**Flickering Flame**_

_Pre Chapter: "Rebirth"_

All was still in the Cemetery of Ash, for there was no reason for any commotion. The world was dying, and no one alive was sane enough to care. The sun above, despite shining brightly, blanketed the graveyard in a solemn, depressed light—quite fitting for the resting place of the Flame's rejected few, the Unkindled. For not too far away sat the temple of the greatest beings in all of Lothric's history: Firelink Shrine, home to the thrones belonging to the Lords of Cinder.

The Lords, all but mere legends, were revered as near-gods in their respective times, for they alone possessed souls powerful enough to link the First Flame. Few beings in all known history displayed such power, fewer so with the mettle to sacrifice their souls to preserve the world. Farron's Undead Legion, the Abyss Watchers. Aldrich, Saint of the Deep. Yhorm, the giant ruler of the Profaned Capital. These names held power, and to some degree, still did in this age.

However, as the link of fire is threatened, the Lords must be resurrected to partake in the linking. Only one has returned, and not nearly with enough power to continue the Age of Fire. It is in these dire circumstances that the First Flame will call upon its most despised and hidden champions to return the Lords to their thrones, no matter what the cost. Thus the Unkindled are created out of the ash left behind by those who failed to satisfy the need of the Flame.

Again and again the unkindled are sent out with the mission of bringing the Lords to link the Fire, and yet it is to no avail; for as the Unkindled tire of their journey, their minds and souls begin to hollow to the point of no return—an ill-fated curse courtesy of the Great Lord Gwyn, Lord of Sunlight and the founder of the First Flame. For, to be Unkindled means to be human, and to be human and survive in such a world as Lothric, only Undead can have a chance of completing the task; to assign such an arduous task to a carrier of the Darksign is to curse them to a fate of Hollowing, for what is man to do when thou hast not a purpose, but to Hollow?

And so it is that the Flame will call upon its first champion. The champion from an age long ago, before the Profaned Flame, before the Judgement of Gundyr, and even before the birth of the Undead Legion. From a land known only in legend: Lordran, the land of the ancient gods, where the oft-told tale of a certain human was born.

For the Flame has no option but to call upon its first and most powerful champion: the Chosen Undead.

Suddenly, a bell in the distance began chiming. No birds rushed anywhere, but there was a sense of foreboding that followed in the quietness that accompanied the ringing. For a moment, all had gone back to the empty silence of before. Then, a rough grinding noise broke the silence, the culprit being the top of a grave that was slowly sliding off its stone coffin. Once it was free of the edge of the grave, a hand reached up to grip the edge, followed by the rest of the arm, and eventually a whole upper body.

This is the story of the last Ember in the Age of Fire.


	2. Brave New World

_**A couple things. First, huge shoutout to the writer whose story inspired my method of writing this, WanderingSoul96 and his story **_**Rekindled**_**. I plan on borrowing a few ideas implemented in their story, but not so much where it's super obvious. Just some main character plots and whatnot. Second, a good deal of you seem to want me to continue my previous stories, so after this chapter I will be working on the rewrites of the others, starting with No Longer Lost to Light. Without further ado-do, god bless and deuces.**_

_**(Insert original disclaimer here).**_

_**Flickering Flame**_

_Chapter 1 – Brave New World_

I woke to the feeling of soreness permeating throughout my entire body. Years (I'm assuming years, considering the place I woke up in was far from familiar) of being dead will do that to you though, I suppose. Speaking of, why was I alive? Last I remembered, I could feel the First Flame feeding on my very soul, using me as fuel for the Age of Fire. I distinctly remember feeling my life draining away, so then how did I end being buried alive(ish) here?

Then I noticed the orange signs on the ground. I audibly groaned, and realized my throat was not as scratchy and rough as it had been when I woke in the asylum—although I did feel somewhat parched. Digging around in my grave (this was certainly a new experience for me) I managed to find my Estus flask resting near where my head had lain in the stone coffin. I took a small sip, feeling rejuvenated and not like I had been stuck in a stone prison for a millennia.

Pausing for a moment, I looked at the first orange soapstone writings. "The bell tolls when the link is threatened." Did that have something to do with my being alive? The "link" had to be the First Flame; there was nothing else that would be this important in this realm. But I had already sacrificed my soul to keep it going, and as powerful as I had become, mine should've kept it going for a long time. Exactly how long had I been gone?

Holstering my flask, I stood up and began to stretch, until a thought popped into my mind. Digging around in the dirt I had been buried in, a sense of panic began to reach me until my fingers touched something cold, hard and polished. Practically grinning from ear to ear, I dug some more until I could see my blade's outline faintly through the dirt. Gripping the handle as best as I could, I wrenched it free and allowed my eyes to fall upon my most beloved possession in all of Lordran: the greatsword of Artorias.

"At least you're still here, old friend," I said to the weapon, feeling an almost playful tug on my mind as the Soul of Sif responded in kind. Soul transposed weapons were my favorites to wield, due to the infused soul acting almost as a partner in battle, and Sif had aided me in a great many of them. "Do you happen to know where we are?" No response came from within my mind, so I turned my thoughts to my surroundings to see if I could attain any clues.

It seemed I was in some sort of small ravine, and the sides made of suspiciously smooth stone. "Tis made to be a graveyard, but perhaps it was more of a prison, don't you think?" Sif seemed to hum in agreement as I made my way down the only path available. At the end, I noticed a hunched over figure in ragged clothing shuddering against the wall of the ravine. Taking a step forward, I cringed internally as I stepped on a rather dry branch, the crack echoing loudly off the walls. The figure looked up.

"Oh." Of course it was a Hollow. Who else would be in this graveyard? My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the Hollow rushing me with a rusted dagger. Reacting instantly, I used my armored cuff to parry the blow, causing the poor creature to practically impale itself upon Sif. Pushing the corpse off the blade, I continued along the path. I eventually came upon a fountain with yet another easily dispatched Hollow guarding it; however, he seemed to have dropped an item I had never seen before. Picking it up, I realized that it was almost an exact copy of my Estus flask, save for the color.

"A blue one?" I wondered aloud. "I don't believe I've ever heard of blue Estus before. Sif?" Again, the wolf was quiet. Shrugging to no one in particular, the new flask was added to my equipment pouch and I moved on. Eventually, after passing a rather breathtaking view from the cliffside, I found something I had figured would show up eventually: a bonfire. "About bloody time," I grumbled as I eased into a sitting position by the flame, feeling the heat begin to ease my aching bones already.

Something about the flame seemed off though, almost as if it was barely alight. '_Perhaps I have been away a while.'_ I pondered what could have happened during my time in the grave. '_Maybe I can find someone who can tell me.' _Sif seemed to tug in agreement. "Well, time to move on," I said as I checked my flask—sorry, flasks. I almost forgot I had two now, it seemed such a strange concept. I closed up my pouch and began walking.

A few more hollows later, and I had arrived at an archway leading to a large, open courtyard. In the middle of the arena, there knelt a rather imposing figure with an unsettlingly large halberd thrust into the ground beside them. Upon closer inspection, I realized that this warrior must be frozen as a statute—especially considering the large coiled sword thrust through their midsection. A coiled sword that seemed an awful lot like the bonfire blades. I then noticed a large set of double doors just beyond the statue.

"Huh. Well, this seems pointless then." I gestured to the frozen warrior. "What's his point in being here if he's just a work of art?" I walked to the doors, realizing almost immediately that my previous assertation about the statue's uselessness may or may not have been rather foolish of me. "Of course there's a key, and it is most certainly on his person, is it not?" A quick glance behind me confirmed my suspicions—there it was hanging from his halberd's handle. Letting out an aggravated sigh, I approached the statue's weapon, only to have my focus stolen by a rather shocking detail: black tendrils, almost parasitic in nature, writhing on the statue's back.

"The Abyss?!" Sif seemed to be on edge as well, and for good reason. Both of us remembered well the fight in the Chasm of Oolacile, and not necessarily for the better.

_**Flashback**_

"_Sif!" I cried out as the wolf was thrown to the side like a mere toy. A dark growl emanated from my right, as a hundred red eyes focused in my direction. Manus, the creator of this darkness that had swallowed the town, paced like a predator, before leaping at me with such speed that I almost allowed myself to be smashed by the enormous fist that followed._

_Luckily, a last-minute roll managed to prevent my demise, allowing me time to slash at the beast's arm before backing off to find my ally. Luckily, I found no need to, as the wolf came at the former primeval man with a flurry of swipes from his sword. I still found it odd that the wolf could fight with a greatsword, but for the moment I did not question it. Instead, I focused back on the enraged beast that was thrashing around in insanity._

_I had realized early in the battle that Manus seemed unaffected by any resin or infused attacks, so I had forgone my usual lightning balder side sword in favor of my heavy hitter—a Black Knight Greataxe from the Catacombs. Luckily, although he didn't appear to share the same weakness to it that the demons of Izalith showed, the behemoth of a weapon was still cutting deep enough to cause him apparent pain. If he felt any hesitance though, it definitely didn't show. The Father of the Abyss was putting up a fight so aggressive that he was putting the Black Dragon Kalameet out of business._

_Blocking a slam with Havel's Greatshield, I allowed Sif to catch Manus' attention while I conjured the only pyromancy I knew by heart: Power Within. Feeling the usual rush of energy and strength, I rushed in, dodging through the beast's attempts to blast me with dark magic, and struck a blow so powerful that Manus was almost brought to his knees. _'This is it,' _I thought to myself, pulling the greataxe back to deliver the killing blow, only to be greeted by a hundred enraged eyes._

_Immediately, my mind was overwhelmed with a cascade of unbidden emotions, each as strong as a wave in a sea storm. I collapsed on all fours as unfamiliar memories played in my mind's eye. Four figures gathered around a flame. The birth of man. The war with the dragons. A girl dancing in a meadow, smiling. The same girl pierced through the heart by a dark curved sword. My head on a chopping block. Hearing the wind against the executioner's sword as it arced down to meet my neck._

_**End of Flashback**_

Shaking myself back into the present, I resolved not to dwell on the past until I could at least figure out my situation in this world. I unsheathed Sif, preparing to sever the tendrils from the warrior's back, before I found myself flying fifteen meters backwards, directly into the large double doors. I looked up to the statue was indeed an actual warrior, and quite the agile one too. He charged me with the halberd winding back to lop off my head, and I reacted by pulling myself under the blade and slicing Sif against his midsection before rolling back to my feet. I looked back to see the black ooze of the Abyss leaking from the newly made rupture.

"This shouldn't take too lo-" I began before realizing he was hunched over, shaking violently. Suddenly, the upper half of the warrior exploded in darkness, almost blotting out the sun above. A colossal hand reached out to swipe blindly at me but was met with nothing but air as I vaulted over his other shoulder. Finally a good distance from him, I realized he hadn't just burst open, but seemed to have formed an enormous serpentine head of Abyssal sludge, complete with burning red eyes that I had seen all too often.

The snake hissed/screeched at me and reared back up on its attempt at a tail. I feinted to the left, successfully baited a downward slam, and leaped at the giant head as its mouth opened to swallow me. Fortunately, the greedy bastard never noticed the intensifying flame in my head until it was too late, and as the mouth began to close over me, I released the most powerful pyromancy I knew—Chaos Storm.

It worked perfectly. The snake practically spat me out as it began to convulse and scream, before it was sucked back into the warrior's body, which then collapsed to the arena floor.

*************************************************************************************Somehow, the key had survived the entire ordeal, for which I was grateful beyond compare. It fit perfectly in the door's slot, before dissolving into ash. Before a word could form on my tongue though, I heard (and felt) the grinding of the doors. As they pulled themselves open, I saw an odd sight: a strange stone building, almost like a temple, sitting barely two hundred paces away.

I walked up the steps to be greeted by a couple of Hollows wielding flaming crossbows and spears. Easily dispatching of them with some casually thrown fire orbs, I continued up the steps to the entrance of the temple. As I entered, a feeling of calm emanated throughout my body, as though I had just set foot in my home after all these years. Shaking it off, I realized I could hear a familiar sound resonating from within the temple.

"No, it couldn't be..." I began as I practically sprinted down the stairs, ignoring all details around me. I followed the sounds into a small corridor, and was met with the sight of a startlingly familiar blacksmith leaned over an anvil, hammering away at a weapon.

"Andre?" The mane of dirty blonde hair shifted back, uncovering two bright blue eyes staring back at me.

"Do I know you?" came the gruff reply that all but confirmed my rising hopes.

"It's me!" I practically shouted. "Your friend from your time in the Undead Parish, remember?"

Andre scrunched his eyes tight, before they widened beyond any reasonable expectations. His eyebrows shot up in disbelief and recognition, causing him to drop his hammer in shock as he realized who was in front of him.

"...Arthur?" He whispered.

I took off my helmet, grinning from ear to ear. The grizzled blacksmith's face broke into a wide smile, before he stood up and pulled me closer, staring at me in wonder.

"You're alive?!" Still in disbelief, he began glancing up and down my armor and face, almost as if he thought me an imposter. "Last time I saw you, you were leaving to travel to the Kiln. What happened?" I shrugged.

"I threw myself at Gwyn until I won, and I linked the fire." He stared at me a few more moments, before slapping my back and roaring with laughter.

"It's been too long!" He pulled me into a bear hug, before releasing me and asking, "How did you get here? I had to travel a great many leagues to end up here in Lothric." I was about to answer, before something he said caught my attention.

"Lothric, you say?" He nodded. "Aye," Andre confirmed, "tis a great a powerful kingdom, practically build on Lordran itself." I thought for a moment.

"But I couldn't have gotten here from the Kiln..." I mused. "How could I have woken up in—"

"Ashen one?" A gentle voice called out from down the corridor.

Turning to see who had called my attention, I was met with the sight of a young woman in ceremonial attire, and a band lain across her eyes obscuring her sight.

Andre cleared his throat. "Best that you go see the young miss before you do anything else here." Nodding, I began to walk away until he called, "Oh, and Arthur. One more thing..." I raised an eyebrow for him to continue.

"Best not to mention the past around here." He looked around nervously, before speaking again. "Some things that happened in Lordran have had quite an effect on the world today..." he trailed off. Before I could ask, he waved me on to the center of the temple, towards the blind lady.

As I walked to meet her, I noticed an elderly lady hunched over in a chair along the side of the hallway. Making a mental note, I turned back towards the young miss at the center of the temple. However, it dawned on me now just how large the center room was—there was a large open area with a strange bowl placed in the center, but the most noticeable piece had to be the five thrones arranged in an elevated semicircle around the bowl. Before I could ponder these new details though, a voice beckoned me.

"Welcome to the bonfire, Unkindled One." The fair maiden was addressing me, despite her blatantly obvious lack of sight. How did she know I was there?

"I am a Fire Keeper. I tend to the Flame, and to thee." Well, that was not an unwelcome prospect. I loved to meet new friends. Before I could voice my thoughts, she began to speak again. "The Lords have left their thrones, and must be deliver'd to them." She paused, almost as if she was nervous to speak to me. "To this end, I am at thy side."

I hesitated for a moment to speak. "I thank thee for thine offer of service, but I must ask: what would cause thee to wish to bind thineself to me? What quest am I to undertake that would require your servitude to me?" The slender young girl seemed taken aback by such a response, as though she had expected something else.

"Unkindled One, thou hast been called upon to return the Lords of Cinder to their thrones. For that is the only way to link the Flame, and to stave off the dark." Ah ha, the same old story. Seek out these powerful beings and bring them (or at least their souls) to these thrones. However, one thing was nagging me still, and had been since the moment I arrived in the temple.

"Fire Keeper," I began hesitantly, "this temple." I gestured around me. "What is this place?"

"Ashen One, it is called many names; however, the most common would be that of Firelink Shrine".

_**Holy crap. That was a lot of writing for less that 3,000 words. Please leave a comment on what you liked as well as what you found boring, useless, or just plain dumb. Thank you all so much, and have a wonderful day. LY.**_


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